And coming up next on Chav-o-vision...

Talk show host Jeremy Kyle may receive a sixfigure salary to host a show with the title Jeremy Kyle Gets Britain Working, it was reported as being considered by Government ministers last week.

The idea is that, on the show, Kyle will confront the unemployed and question them about their efforts to find work. As such, we feel it is time for the complete lowdown on programmes of this type:

Where do these shows find their guests, on the whole?Generally, the guests are massproduced by a factory in Milton Keynes.

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The factory, which provides guests for daytime talk shows all over the world, consists of four separate buildings for the manufacture of men, the manufacture of mullets, the manufacture of women and the manufacture of the child who may be yours but, hey, may not be, so let's do a DNA test! Surprise!

Trading is every weekday with great bargains to be had just before closing on a Friday, when you can pick up a fat, foulmouthed woman in a velour tracksuit for roughly 50 per cent of the normal price.

That has to be a good deal, doesn't it?Yes, although you will have to house her until she can appear on TV first thing Monday morning. Over the weekend, you may reasonably expect to be sworn at, called a liar and assaulted with a chair.

The trick is to listen, as if sympathetically, and then set her straight with some plain, abusive talking which will help you - and anyone watching - feel better about themselves. You could try: 'Who pays for your drink? You do? No you don't! I pay for your drink. Me and every other taxpayer! Get a job!' Or: 'What the hell are you doing? You just can't tell the truth, can you? And there are children involved here!' Should you wish to take the heat out of the situation, if only for three minutes, try: 'After the break, we'll be meeting another couple so desperate for answers they, too, are thick enough to take a lie detector test that's not permissible in court.'

What's been the biggest mix-up on shows of this type? The biggest mix-up occurred when Ray Laing, a 46-stone benefit cheat, junkie, alcoholic, wife beater, child abuser, gambler and sufferer from various OCDs - including an obsessive compulsion to eat all the green triangles from the Quality Street box, as well as all the others - was fork-lifted to a chi-chi Mayfair salon for a make-over. This was before anyone realised he wasn't Sue, who was recently widowed, suffering from depression and needing cheering up with a new look. Sue was fine about it though. Indeed, as she said in her suicide note: 'I think Ray looks lovely now.' You may have seen this on the show 'Poor Sue, But Will You Just Have A Look At Ray!' as you know how it is; waste not, want not and all that. Ray would currently be looking for work, if only he could be bothered.

Could I get onto one of these shows? Alas, the factory pretty much has it all sewn up or, as their brochure puts it: 'If you want the sort of people audiences can write off as scum, you've come to the right place. We've been specialising in the sort of people audiences can write off as scum since 1974.' However, that said, occasionally a show will include a non-factorymade participant. Do you have a chance? First, ask yourself the following:

Am I fat enough? Is my tracksuit velour enough? Have I ever been involved in a lurid tryst involving family members and Uncle Bob's home help?Is something tearing me up inside so bad I feel I have to come clean in front of 1.5 million people?Is my muffin top visible from space? As my husband beats me with the iron, and I've cheated on him with my own father, how is this marriage going to be saved if we don't go on TV? Am I unable to take responsibility for my own problems? Have I ever sent suggestive texts to my best friend's husband?Am I married to my rapist? DO I want to go to London for the day, all expenses paid?Is my name Tracy?

What if I'm turned down?If turned down by Jeremy Kyle, for example, you may then appeal to Trisha. If Trisha also turns you down, you may have to put your case to the European Court of Esther Rantzen.

As an overweight teenage girl who dresses like a slut and has a baby every four minutes, what are my chances?You're a shoo-in. Should you have any difficulties, we would suggest bypassing the European Court of Esther Ranzten altogether and going straight to the International Court of Vanessa Feltz, based in The Hague. This court has 18 judges who sit simultaneously and are all specifically trained to shout: 'Kill, kill, kill.'

As it happens, I like my humiliation in private, don't want an audience when I'm upset or angry, and generally like time to think before I speak. What are my chances?Listen, just go away and stop wasting our time.

What's the future for shows of this type?Ever since the success of Oprah's monthly book club, the shows have been trying to be less condemnatory and more educative. Recent initiatives include programmes on How To Use A Knife And Fork and How To Lose It And Not Throw Stuff. Both have proved life-changing. Indeed, as one 54-year-old man told us: 'Trisha explained how to use a knife and fork so well and so simply that I'm now eating with a knife and fork for the first time in my life. I feel empowered.' And as another person told us: 'The other day I lost my temper and kicked my own grandmother to death, but I did not throw anything. 'Thank you, Jeremy!'

Who are you calling a pig in lipstick, you swine?

If you think, as Barack Obama does, that 'you can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still a pig', then you are much mistaken.For sure.

We have a pig, Miss Oinksie, who, once the lipstick is on, does not act like a pig at all. In fact, once she's done her lippy - Mac, usually, in Bombshell Pink - she thinks she is part J-Lo, part Kylie and starts demanding all sorts of riders, such as white lilies in her dressing room and San Pellegrino mineral water (sparkling). 'But Miss Oinksie,' we tell her. 'You're a pig and you do not have a dressing room.'

At this, she will flounce - and that is the only word for it; she is a great flouncer when riled - to the opposite end of her sty where she will sulk and then say: 'A pig? A pig? Am I not beautiful? Am I not wearing lipstick? Are my lips not Bombshell Pink? Am I not J-Lo or Kylie?

'So why no dressing room? I should have a dressing room. I should have lilies and San Pellegrino. I should be shielded from the paparazzi. I should have a driver. I have never been treated so badly in all my life.'

She will then insist on being handed the phone so that she can call Elton John. 'We are friends. We've done a lot of work on Aids together. He'll get me out of this.' She is never like this when not wearing lipstick, when she is happy enough to roll in mud and scratch her back on the fence and munch her way though a bucket of potato peelings.

It's the lipstick that transforms her and leads her to imagine she knows Elton ('Go away, pig!,' he always shouts before hanging up. We do think Elton could be more gentlemanly, but that's probably a discussion for another day).

So all we're saying is that a pig in lipstick is not the same animal at all. Or as Miss Oinksie herself says: 'That's it. I'm through with Elton. Hand me the phone. I'm going to call Lulu.'